Déjà vu
by The Evil Critic From Hell
Summary: After his death on the battlefield by Edelgard's hand, Dimitri reawakens in the past as a child. The Tragedy of Duscur has not yet occurred, everyone he cares about is still alive, and he's burdened with the knowledge that in nearly two decades time, a great war will rip the entire continent apart. Dimitri will do whatever it takes to make sure these travesties do not occur.


**Warning: This story will deal with some heavy themes. I will try to place a warning before each chapter when it's particularly dark, but be prepared just in case. I rated it as Mature just in case for... certain future chapters regarding the violence. **

**This fic technically takes place on the Crimson Flower route, but it's more of a soft merge between Crimson Flower and Azure Moon. Since there is so much info crammed into dialogue about the world and its people, I'm taking a more soft canon approach to the writing. Not everything may line up perfectly, but I will do my best nonetheless. This story will require some prior knowledge of the two routes and the characters involved.**

**I'm not sure how long this fic will be, or even if it will be worth finishing. I guess as long as people enjoy it, it should be ok? I'm not sure if this is the type of fic people even want to read, lol. But so far, it's been fun to at least conceptualize!**

**Oh, also, I'm dyslexic. Please forgive me for grammar and spelling errors.**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Imperial Year 1168**

Today, King Dimitri was executed by Emperor Edelgard in Tailtean Plains, thus marking the fall of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus.

His army was slain about him. His friends were dead. There was nothing left but blood and mud, the sound of metal and dying cries, all drenched in a ceaseless rain as it bore down on the two armies. The world, his world, was drowning. Drowning in loss, in fear, and in anger.

Everything. She had taken _everything _from him. His nation. His people. His family. And now, as he looked up at her with venomous hate while on his knees, she was to take his life too. He, a king of a proud people, at the mercy of an emperor, who showed him none.

And he still did not fully understand why she did it. All of it.

Her axe was raised. He could see it shimmer, light and ugly, through the shadow of the rain. He steeled himself for the blow, for he knew he was spent. His legs were broken, his arms were weak. Every breath he released pooled more blood from his lips. He was dying. His lance could not save him now. It could not bring him the revenge the dead sought.

He had failed them. The Kingdom. Mercedes. Dedue. Sylvain. Ingrid. Rodrigue. Felix.

The dead.

Even now, they screamed in his ears. _**Her head! Give us her head! Rise, you fool! Your body is not your own. Your life is not your own. Drain her blood, make her pay! Stand! STAND! Kill her! **_

Their words were the loudest they had ever been. They did not want him to forget. Not that day. The Tragedy of Duscur. _**You survived. You survived so you must avenge us! Only you! Only you! **_They screeched at him.

That day… Even now, before his death, those images flashed in his head. His father's head rolling on the ground as his body fell into the dirt. Glenn moving towards him to take a blow that was meant for the prince. His stepmother walking into the fire that burned about them. Gone. GONE! He will _never _forget the look on their faces, distorted in pain and agony, and their bloodcurdling screams as they begged for life. Begged for mercy from the goddess. And received none.

_Everyone…. I am sorry…_ he wept tearlessly and silently.

And the axe fell.

* * *

Dimitri woke with a start in a dark, chilly room and sat up with a heart-wrenching cry. His voice was swallowed up by the heavy satin curtains around his bed as he panted, drenched in a cold sweat from head to toe.

At first, he had little awareness of his surroundings. All he could do was clutch the soft, thick duvet that now lay around his waist and over his legs, trying to catch his breath while his heart raced in his chest. In his mind, clear as day and strong like an iron grip, was the image of the red emperor standing over him, her bloodied axe coming down upon him. He could still feel the rain that beat upon his skin. Like ice it had been. The feeling of mud beneath his boots. The weight of his weapon in his hand. And the feeling of searing, ripping pain come across his neck as Edelgard-

His hand flung up to his neck to feel the wound. He had expected to feel blood seeping through his fingers and torn muscles pulse their last, but nothing was there. He could only feel soft and smooth skin, warm and unbroken. But that was impossible. He _remembered_ being executed. The pain was clear as day. His nerves still burned at the memory. In confusion, he pulled back his hand to check for blood despite not feeling anything warm and wet. His eyes went wide.

Blinking wildly, unsure of what he was seeing, he flipped his hand back and forth, palm up and down, as he stared. His hand appeared to be small. There were no scars or very many callouses. It was no bigger than a child's, with skin that was unbroken and not calloused. He checked his other hand to be sure. It was the same: tiny and untouched by battle. He lifted them both higher to inspect them further and as he did, the feeling of satin sleeves fell down to his elbows. This gave him pause as his gaze ventured down the length of his right arm. Gone was the black armor he had just been wearing and instead was a light blue sleeping garment of the highest quality.

That was when it occurred to him that he was no longer on a battlefield but in a large bed. He dropped his hands to push himself up a bit, his head on a swivel in feverish bewilderment. Beyond the curtains the bed was a large room, decorated in a manner fit for a prince. Fresh flowers of reds and blues adorned a porcelain vase on a small table by a stained-glass window with a chair of velvet and cherry wood. A large wardrobe ran along a wall by a beautiful changing screen, carved by expert hands and with a golden griffin painted meticulously by a master artist. Upon the walls were the banners of House Blaiddyd, and upon the stone floors were thick fur carpets scattered about for warmth in freezing winters. A sword and lance, made for a child, were propped up by the heavy wooden door. By his bed was a bedtable with a cup of water and a late-night snack, a delicacy he had not seen or enjoyed in years.

He knew this room. It was his room, back from when he was only a child. He remembered those weapons and those banners, and the soft warmth of the carpets between his toes. But those were days long past. It could not be…

Gentle moonlight was streaming through the window, making a display of colors dance upon the floor. Across the room a small glint caught Dimitri's attention. A vanity with a mirror stood by the wardrobe, and it was bathed in that bluish light. Without any more hesitation, Dimitri flung off his covers and jumped out of bed. The distance from the bed to the floor was larger than he remembered. His feet met with the soft fur. Back in the day he would have thrown on a robe and slippers before walking around his room, but he was not interested in such comforts now. While he ran over to the mirror, the chill of the stone floor and the bite of the air made him shiver. But he cared not. There were more pressing matters at hand.

Much to his surprise, the vanity was too high up, so he had to climb up on a stool to get a better look. When he finally reached the mirror, a gasp escaped him. Instead of a war-beaten man, soiled by dirt and blood and burdened by battle, the face of a younger Dimitri stared back at him. The lines in his face from all those years of anger and bitterness were gone. The scars that littered his flesh were cleared. His face was round and his eyes big and clear. He looked healthy, well-fed and clean. This was not a face Dimitri has looked upon in nearly two decades ago…. He almost did not recognize himself. But there could be no doubt; it _was _him, long before the world broke him.

Shaking, he looked back down at his hands. His mind raced. It only occurred to him just now that the agony from his execution he had experienced only moments ago as fading away. His neck no longer throbbed. The freeze of the rain felt distant. It was like it was all a bad dream.

_A bad… dream? _he wondered to himself.

He turned to survey his room before turning back towards the mirror to stare at himself. Young Dimitri stared back. He allowed himself to reach up and let his fingertips graze across his own cheek. It tickled, and it felt real. But that was impossible. He could recall growing up, going through puberty and training with Gustave. He remembered in detail the death of his father, of Glenn, and of his stepmother. He remembered fighting for Rhea, in hopes to defend his nation and to finally get Edelgard's head for her crimes against his family, and for that of Duscur. And how she retreated, leaving his army, his _friends, _to be slaughtered like pigs. His hands curled into fists.

Dimitri's mind raced. _What is going on?_ he pondered. _I could have sworn that I was killed. No, I am sure that I was killed. She… She killed me! She murdered Sylvain, Mercedes, and Dedue before she killed me! I… This cannot be. This all feels real, but this has to be the dream. _

The silence was suddenly interrupted by the jiggling of the door handle. Although a warrior and general, Dimitri was so unsettled with his situation that he jolted violently in alarm. It was enough for him to lose his footing and fall backwards with a cry. His fingers desperately reached out for something to grab a hold of, but he was only successful in dragging a bunch of items off the vanity. They all came crashing down to the floor, clattering loudly, while he himself found himself on his back. Although he had landed on another fur carpet instead of hard stone, it still hurt nonetheless and he winced as tiny tears welled in the corners of his eyes.

The noise must have been startling, because the intruder flung the door open in a panic. "Your Highness!" cried a male voice. Dimitri could hear their footsteps as they ran over and knelt down beside him. A large hand rested against his cheek as a familiar face peered down at him, full of fear. "Are you alright? Did you hit your head? What happened?"

Dimitri felt a cry hitch in his throat, because before him was a face he thought he would never see again. There, with his long dark hair pulled into a loose ponytail, those sharp facial features, and those eyes sharp blue like his father, was Glenn Fraldarius. The dead son of Rodrigue, and the brother of Felix. How young and handsome he looks… And how alive. Guilt rose up from within Dimitri like a flood as he stared up at the young noble. Images of Glenn's corpse, mutilated and ripped apart, sprang into his head. The day Glenn had given up his life to save the young prince would be forever burned into his mind. He dared not to forget that moment; the dead did not want him to.

But here he was, breathing and unscathed, and looking over Dimitri with concern.

_What? What is this? Glenn? It cannot be…. _

With a sigh of relief upon seeing no major injuries, Glenn scooped up the young prince into his arms and held him close. His embrace was warm. Dimitri could feel his Glenn's heart beat in his chest. The prince was frozen, unsure what to think or say. He had always suffered visions of the death and heard their screams for blood and revenge. Glenn's voice had been among them, among the loudest and most vicious of them all. He had called for Edelgard's head over and over again… But now, in whatever strange vision Dimitri was suffering, this Glenn was soft and comforting; his tone was gentle as he murmured, "By the goddess, you scared me…"

Then, he stopped hugging Dimitri and smacked him on the side of the head. It was not painful but Dimitri was still taken aback for a moment. "You idiot! What the hell were you thinking? Do you know how much trouble I would be in if the crowned prince died on my watch?!" Dimitri watched as the older boy let his head roll back to face the heavens and let out an exacerbated sigh. "It is already hard enough to deal with the crybaby. You were supposed to be the easy one!" He huffed loudly. "Think about how you affect others before you put yourself in dangerous situations!"

There was that uncouth attitude Dimitri remembered. But he was too overwhelmed with bewilderment and emotions to smile or reply. He could only stare. He was unable to look away. To see a man he cared about so long ago, young and alive, was almost more than he could bear. Because he had survived, and Glenn had died for him.

The older boy noticed Dimitri's expression and immediately paused in mid lecture. "What? Is there something on my face?" When Dimitri did not reply, Glenn frowned and pressed a cool palm against Dimitri's forehead. "… No fever." The prince did not seem himself. He had been down lately because his father had gone on an exhibition to Sreng, but this seemed different. "Are you feeling ill? That would be annoying, you know."

When Dimitri still failed to reply, caught in a stupor, Glenn really started to wonder if he did hit his head. His fingers began to ghost along Dimitri's scalp, looking for any signs of a bump under that golden hair. His fall did sound pretty hard. He bent his head down slightly to get a better view into the prince's pupils, checking to see if he may have gotten a concussion.

Despite his crude lexicon and often vulgar behavior, Glenn had always had tenderness within him. And now, seeing him move with such gentleness made Dimitri snap out of his state and pull back away from him. No, he didn't… He did not deserve Glenn's kindness! Not when he got to live, and Glenn had to die! What was this dream? This… this was worse than Glenn's voice screaming for Edelgard's death. To be treated like a human and not the beast that he was… he…. No, this was not right. Why was Glenn here? Why was he a child once more? Why did it all feel so _real? _Even the voices, he realized, were silent. Nothing called to him. Nothing howled and cursed and spat vile desires and dark wishes. His breathing began to quicken as panic started to set in.

It was a not the reaction Glenn had expected and it showed on his face. His eyes widened slightly as he stopped in his place, his hand still hovering where Dimitri's head had been. "… What was that?" he asked out loud. He frowned deeply. "Why are you acting so strange? You are as white as a sheet, like you've seen a ghost." Still, words could not escape Dimitri. He could not respond, even if he wanted to. He was too overwhelmed by this new situation, by the vision of a Glenn that had not been slaughtered like an animal. Glenn noted his continued silence and let out a sigh. "That must have been one hell of a nightmare, if it made you scream like you did early and act like a frightened rabbit." He grabbed Dimitri's hand and stood up, pulling the prince back up to his feet. Dimitri had no choice but to comply.

"Come on, let's just get you back to bed. Don't want you being tired tomorrow. I have to sleep myself too, you know." But he made a mental reminder to check on Dimitri in the morning. Just in case there was an injury he did missed.

But Dimitri did not move from his spot. His breathing was still fast and his head felt light. He desperately wanted to clutch his throat, as if to try to open it up further so that he may _breathe_, but his arms disobeyed him. Everything seemed to disobey him. He wanted to run away, far away, to something that made sense again. He felt small and weak. This vision gripped his entire being and wrapped about him a feeling of terror he has not felt in a long time. Only minutes ago he was dying, and now he was here with a dead man.

Was this…. Was this the afterlife? Has he been swallowed up by hell?

But then why did it feel like he was alive? Why did Glenn feel so warm as he suddenly swept him up into his arms, looking mildly irritated to hide his concern? Dimitri could feel his own heart, and Glenn's, beat with life. He could feel the cool air fill his lungs with each breath, and the throb of pain where he had hit the floor. These could not be things of the dead… could they? And why were they both so young?

"You should really be walking yourself, Your Highness, but I have not the patience for you to move," Glenn was saying as he carried the boy back to his bed. He plopped Dimitri back down on the soft mattress and pulled his comforter over him. "There. Now just go back to sleep. It was just a nightmare. It wasn't real, so there is nothing to fear." His tone was not comforting, but the intent was there.

Dimitri still could not say anything, stunned into a mute state. Glenn frowned but did not push anything further. He walked over to the door, still flung wide open, to make his exit. He paused by the frame, briefly looking over his shoulder towards the bed, before shutting the door behind him. Dimitri could hear that Glenn stood outside the door for a moment, then the sound of his footsteps pattered away.

Despite Glenn's command for the prince to go back to sleep, Dimitri could only lay there and gape towards the door. And there he remained for the rest of the night, sleepless and drowning in the confusion of his mind.

* * *

It was the Imperial Year 1168, and Dimitri was five years old. It was a beautiful Sunday in the middle of a Faerghus summer, and the world knew not of the trouble brewing in the shadows.

In a daze, Dimitri found himself swept up in a morning routine. He had not fallen back asleep since Glenn put him back to bed, so when a servant came in help wash up and dress the young prince, he was startled to see the boy was already awake. He had made his proper greetings, but Dimitri was unsure if he managed to return one himself. His mind was elsewhere as the servant combed his hair and helped him into his daywear, and he barely made a peep as the servant led him to the usual dining room. The room was ornate but small, perfect for a royal family wanting a more intimate setting.

It was all too surreal that even the dead continued to leave Dimitri to his thoughts. Dimitri soon found that he was sitting on a red velvet chair as servants began to pile food onto his plate and fill a small wooden cup with water. He failed to notice the glances that they were giving each other, nor did he make any movement towards eating.

He felt strange… Too strange to grasp what was going on. Here he was, in his five year old body, dressed in soft clothes in a dining room that he has only known to be empty since he was thirteen. A divine meal, not rations or scraps, had been placed before him. Every time he blinked he expected this world to fade away and for him to be back on that battlefield, bleeding out and dying. But the pain from his throat was not there, and instead the aroma of warm bread filled the air and birds sang in the trees. He felt like all his movements were being controlled by someone else; he followed others aimlessly and mindlessly as they led him about his typical childhood routine. He was too numb to fight back.

The dream got stranger still when Dimitri heard another familiar voice call out to him earnestly as two tiny arms embraced him. "Good morning, Dima!" said the young boy who looked up at him with a smile that he would lose the day Glenn was killed.

Felix.

Like Dimitri he was dressed in his daywear, his dark locks brushed to the side and growing out. His amber eyes were bright and cheerful, a look he has not had for ages from his older self. And like he had with Glenn, Dimitri could only stare at him in silence. He could not believe his eyes. When was the last time Dimitri had seen this kind boy, before the world made him spiteful?

Felix had died, along with Rodrigue, in Arianrhod. They had made their last stand there together. Dimitri could still remember when he got the news from a surviving kingdom soldier. The man had been near spent, bloody and exhausted. He could remember the man struggling to speak as he relayed the news: Felix and Rodrigue of House of Fraldarius was no more. Their bodies had been left behind, unable to be laid to rest. Dimitri had had no time to mourn. He could only remember that his anger for that _woman _grew as she took more and more from him, bit by bit. Person by person.

After all they had been through, after the years they spent patching up their relationship, only to watch each other die… Dimitri does not know who went down first. But the pain they must have felt, the suffering…

And now, here was Felix, cheery and peaceful. Alive. And hugging him close.

Dimitri felt Felix loosen his grip slightly as he pulled back to study the prince's face. His eyebrows were furrowed with worry. "… Dima?" Despite his young age, Felix could sense that there was something unusual about his friend today. Normally, the prince would have hugged him back by now with the largest of smiles. But there was a weird look in Dimitri's eyes that Felix was too young to comprehend. All he knew was that this was not the typical Dimitri he was so attached to.

"Hey, crybaby, go sit down and start eating already," growled Glenn as he walked into the room. "You have been seeing His Highness every day, but I would swear by your constant sniffing and whining that you haven't seen in him in years."

Glenn… Twelve years old. A training sword at his hip. Felix… Five years old. Needy and attached. Dimitri felt his stomach lurch. He squeezed his eyes shut as he leaned forward in his chair, wondering if he was going to be sick. None of this felt right. He did not understand what was going on at all. Another ghost has appeared before him, a ghost of his past. If this was hell, then it was the crueler than he could have ever imagined.

As Felix made an angry whimper and wandered over to a seat next to Dimitri, one of the servants shuffled over to Glenn and whispered something to him. Glenn scoffed and frowned before waving the servant away. "Hey, Your Highness, eat your food, don't just stare at it. You have training after this and we do not want you weak with hunger." His tone was stern. There was a shift in the atmosphere though when the older boy saw the prince hunched over. It was then Dimitri felt Glenn's rough fingers brush against his forehead. "… Still no fever. Perhaps his stomach?" he could hear the older boy mutter under his breath. This was quickly followed by a growl. "If you are unwell, just say so," Glenn barked as he folded his arms. "Don't let others worry about you just because cat's got your tongue."

"And what about you?" he snapped towards Felix, noticing that his brother had not touched his own food yet. "What's your excuse? Why aren't you eating?"

Tears formed in Felix's eyes. "… Father…"

Glenn groaned. "What, are you lonely? The King and Father are going to be gone for a while yet, so stop your blubbering. Focus on what you have right now instead. Crying will not make them come home faster." He reached up and rubbed his temple. "It's not like they left yesterday. You've already survived this long without the old man. You can still keep surviving. Honestly, I cannot wait till I'm knighted so I don't have to babysit the two of you anymore."

That only made Felix sniff harder, but he did as he was told as he started to nibble on a piece of bread while pouting. He kept glancing at Dimitri, who was still in his stupor. "What's wrong with, um, with Dima?"

"Don't know, because he refuses to say anything," replied a frustrated Glenn. "He's been like that since last night."

Dimitri was not listening to them as his stomach was still doing somersaults. But the feeling was starting to pass slightly. He glanced up towards the plate before him as he wondered if he _could _eat. Did hell have such comforts for the dead? Did hell make their stomachs turn as his did? The aroma of the breakfast was delightful and inviting. As his stomach settled down, it started to grumble with hunger. Even in his current condition, he felt himself start to give into his basic needs. As if acting on its own, his hand reached for a piece of bread, coated in melting butter, that sat on his plate. He could feel Glenn and Felix's eyes on him as he carefully lifted up, soft and warm against his fingers, and brought it to his lips. He took a single bite.

Nothing. He tasted nothing.

He felt stiff.

An irritated hum came from his left as Glenn watched this entire process go down. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. His other hand was on his hip. "What was that expression? You looked like you did not enjoy that at all. What, does it taste bad?"

"Here, want mine, Dima?" asked Felix, leaning over and gently placed a nibbled bread piece in front of him. "It's yummy! Then your tummy will feel all better, OK? OK?"

This was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong…. To be sitting here with Felix and Glenn, eating breakfast with them at five years old… No, this was not right. They were all dead men. Every last one of them. Murdered and slain. They should not be here, enjoying the luxuries of life. Especially himself, a monster who got put down like the beast he was…

"Good morning, Your Highness," came in a third voice. Dimitri drew in a painful breath as he looked up to see Gilbe- No… No, he was not Gilbert here. This was Gustave, before he became broken by the death of the king. Before he left the Kingdom and changed his name. Here he was, the lines in his face gone and with no grey in his hair and twenty years younger. Proud and strong. But what became of him, Dimitri did not know. Gustave had been at Fhirdiad, so perhaps Edelgard went and…

The bread he had been holding dropped in his lap. His stomach betrayed him.

Dimitri threw up.

* * *

Concern grew in the castle as Monday came, but Dimitri was deaf to it all. Word had spread quickly in the castle that the prince was unwell, but the state of his condition was kept carefully under wraps. All the servants and soldiers knew was that Prince Dimitri had seemed unusually quiet all Sunday morning before he was sick at breakfast. Within moments of him vomiting, the young noble Glenn had scooped him up and rushed him back to his bedroom with Gustave at his heels. A doctor had been called for, but what she found was not shared with anyone outside of Dimitri's chambers.

"I do not see anything visibly wrong with him," the doctor had told Gustave and Glenn as she wrote down notes. "I looked for any signs of head injuries but there's nothing there. You mentioned he had a night terror last night?"

"Correct," Glenn had responded, trying really hard to not run his hand through his hair anxiously. "I had heard him scream and then heard him fall. He kept acting really strange but I thought it was maybe he was still just freaked out from the dream."

"And you left him alone?" Gustave had sounded stern and disappointed. "Why did you not come get me?"

"Hmph." Glenn had looked away. "I didn't want to coddle him."

"That's not an excuse to ignore His Highness's condition and just put him back to bed," Gustave had scolded in his typical even tone. "Honestly, Glenn, you-"

The doctor had slammed her bag shut loudly to get their attention. "Enough! Not here. I cannot determine the source of the prince's illness. For now, keep an eye on him. Plenty of liquids and soft food and lots of rest. If he has caught something, then we should be prepared to contain it."

"You… don't mean a plague…" Gustave had said faintly. Glenn had taken in a sharp breath at the word 'plague'.

"It's a possibility we cannot ignore, Sir Gustave. It was only five years ago that the Kingdom suffered one. We should inform Lady Cornelia of the situation just in case. And just wait and see. As of now, there is little I can do for His Highness."

That was yesterday. Dimitri had been given something in his water which put him into a slumber. And so he had slept in a fitful sleep until the evening time, where he had been given some food and more sleeping powder. He did not speak or interact with others during his wakefulness.

But now it was another day, and Dimitri was still in this crazy dream. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, grateful that he had awoken to an empty room. He surmised that if anyone even presumed he may have had a plague, then no one would dare to linger too long with him in fear of contracting the illness themselves.

He still felt like his head was in the clouds, high up and spacey, but he didn't feel so trapped in his body anymore. His movements felt more like his own and less in a daze. He lifted his hand up to his face to study it. There was no doubt. It was so tiny. _He _was tiny, and young. Well, physically young, at least. His mind felt old and worn still. But there were no aches and pains from battle scars that he once had.

He still was unsure if this was a dream or not. It all felt so real. He could touch, and breathe, and hurt. But then he would see those who should be dead about him, worrying about him and speaking to him as if he deserved their kindness. It stupefied him, made his tongue numb and his limbs limp.

The air had a slight chill from the early morning. Faerghus was a cold place even in summer. Dimitri wiggled his fingers, feeling every muscle move carefully, before letting his arm fall back into the bed. Even if this was a dream, or hell… It seemed that it was going to continue. Perhaps he should just… go along with it? Perhaps this was to be redemption for surviving, and for failing? The voices have stopped, after all. Maybe… they were at peace? Is this an alternative to offering up Edelgard's head?

The world was certainly a mystery if this was to be his punishment.

There was a creak as the door opened, and Dimitri turned his head to see Glenn and Gustave step quietly into his room. They halted when they noticed that he was awake, unsure of what they were to expect from him. While still very unsure himself about this reality of his, Dimitri found it within his being now to move and speak. He pushed himself upright as he tried to stumble through his greeting.

"G-good… morning…" His own voice startled him. He sounded so young. And it felt strange to talk to dead men who seemed to alive. The dead he had whispered to before did not have beating hearts.

Relief passed across Gustave's face like a wave as he smiled gently. "Good morning, Your Highness. How are you feeling?" He closed the door behind him before strolling over to Dimitri's side. He pressed the back of his hand against the boy's forehead. "You look like you are much better today."

As Dimitri nodded, Glenn joined Gustave by his side. His arms were folded. "Good. Wouldn't know how to explain to the crybaby and to my old man if you were-"

"Glenn," Gustave warned. Then he withdrew his hand. "I'm glad to see you are doing well. You had us worried yesterday."

He did not deserve their worry. Dimiti's fingers curled around his duvet slightly as he shifted his eyes away. "That was not my intention… Forgive me."

Gustave and Glenn exchanged glances. "You seem… like you are still not yourself, Your Highness," Gustave said carefully. The prince's speech sounded… different than before. More eloquent and full of sorrow. "You could probably use more rest. Here." Gustave reached for a glass of water as he pulled out a small pouch from his waist. Dimitri watched as he poured in the contents of the pouch, a white powder, into the cup. Sleeping powder.

"N-no!" protested Dimitri. His outburst gave Gustave pause. "U-um… I'm really ok. My… tummy doesn't hurt anymore." He made sure to try to sound more like the toddler he was. It felt weird to speak in such a lexicon, but he suspected that his mannerisms and general demeanor did not match his appearance. After all, he was a 23 year old in a 5 year old body. Even if none of this was real, he should try to fit the role better. "I want to… um…" He racked his brain for an excuse. "… Go outside and trai- play."

"No way," scoffed Glenn, shaking his head. "Just rest. If you just collapse again, that would be irritating."

"I agree," said Gustave. "You may not have fully recovered yet. I know it's not what you may want, but you should take the time to fully heal." He set the glass down. "I'll get a servant to bring you a light breakfast. Your favorite. But you should stay in bed today, Your Highness. At least until we know your symptoms will not return."

There was no arguing against them, so Dimitri simply lay back down. He still found himself unable to smile at them, but at least he was able to talk to them now. Gustave made sure Dimitri's covers were securely around him before taking Glenn with him. Glenn called out over his shoulder as the exited the room.

"I'll tell the crybaby that you are not going to die, so don't worry."

"Glenn!" echoed Gustave's frustrated voice as the door closed.

Silence.

Dimitri closed his eyes and sighed. It felt so weird to be treated like a child once again. To be tucked in and treasured… It almost hurt. Hurt to be among those he cared about, the ones he failed. Because Edelgard had won. She had killed him. Her axe most certainly removed his head from his body. Although he could no longer feel the pain she had inflicted on his body, the memory still lingered. The flash of white. The searing agony. A scream from somewhere, perhaps a solider, who had watched as their liege was slain. His vision going black, with only the faces of Edelgard and their professor from the days at the monastery as the last thing he would see…

This was… punishment, right? Was this real? He kept asking himself that but he still wasn't sure. As far as he was concerned, time travel was impossible. To be sent back to his younger self _should _be impossible. Yet all of his senses were telling him that this was very real while his rational thought told him otherwise. They brawled for reasoning in his head, one trying to triumph over the other. It made his head ache, but he was used to that. Head pains were something he was completely familiar with.

Perhaps he will drink that water after all.

There was a knock on the door and a servant came in with food. As soon as he left the prince in peace, Dimitri nibbled on the treats. He remembered that this had been among his favorites when he was young, but he still could not taste it despite being this age. The texture was soft, as least. That brought some comfort. But when he had finished, he went ahead and took a sip of the water Gustave had left behind. Perhaps it was weak of him, but he wanted to stop thinking about this madness. There was always tomorrow and right now, tomorrow sounded better. Maybe he would get better bearings then. However, in this moment, Dimitri just wanted rest.

He wasn't sure when the last time he ever truly got to rest since the war started. He laid back down and snuggled into the covers. How warm… How familiar…

… _**K…ll… Ave…ge…**_

Dimitri whipped his head around, thinking he had heard something. But before he could focus on the voices, the sleeping powder started to take hold and he felt his eyelids close as sleep swept him off into the darkness.


End file.
